I Care
by Buggy2013
Summary: Brothers don't always get along; but in Arthur's case, he and his brother NEVER get along. Can he accept the help of his life long rival when it's needed most? human names used: Arthur(England), Scot(Scotland-idk, I liked it-), Francis(France) abusive!Scotland ((Rated T just to be on the safe side))


Arthur Kirkland dodged the beer bottle that was flung at his head and raced out of the house, ignoring the glass that dug into his bare feet. The boy ran as fast as he could, he ran to his safe spot. Scot had never found him there before and he wouldn't find him this time either, that's if he even bothers to come looking...

That morning Arthur had been roughly shaken awake by his older brother. He didn't even need to open his mouth for the teen to smell the booze on his breath. "Let's go Artie, breakfast time." Without waiting for a response Scotland grabbed his little brother's shoulders and threw him on the ground, making sure to stomp on him on his way out of the room. The fourteen year old winced in pain as he felt the extra pressure on his forearm. He dragged himself off the floor and followed his brother down to the kitchen, keeping his distance lest he be thrown down the stairs again. "What do you want today Scot?" He asked, massaging his swollen wrist. "Wa'ever, juss don' burn i'." The thick Scottish accent was slurred by the alcohol making it nearly impossible to understand the older nation. "It's 8 am, what the bloody hell are you drunk for already?" Next thing Arthur knew he was on the ground, left eye and temple throbbing from the blow. Blinking back tears Arthur got up from the ground and wordlessly walked into the kitchen.

An hour later he was setting the table for breakfast. He made his favorite, scones; no point in making anything more complicated, Scot was too drunk to notice. Reluctantly, he called his brother in to eat. Scotland looked at the table and back at his brother with burning eyes. "This is it? You call this breakfast?" Arthur backed away as his brother advanced, slamming the beer bottle on the table as he approached. Next came a blur of hands and feet. Arthur tried desperately to dodge blows and get away, but was overpowered. Finally, after several minutes of this deadly tango Arthur landed a solid blow that sent Scotland backwards. Without hesitation, the younger of the two headed for the door.

"A-and t-then, he t-threw the beer b-bottle at me." Poor little Arthur sobbed to his magical friends. He hugged the mint bunny close (though was very careful not to crush his wings) and winced as one of the fairies tried to pull a piece of glass out of his foot. "Why does he have to be so mean? I didn't do anything wrong." He sniffed; a fairy sat on his head and tried to gently brush the hair off of his bruised face.

Off of the trail that leads through the woods about a mile from his house was a small valley. This was covered with an old footbridge, below was a slow moving river that was deep enough to swim in during summer. This is where Arthur was now; this is where he went to seek the comfort of the mystical creatures that he had also found here. He now sat curled up under the bridge, hurt overtaking him.

Honhonhonhon. Arthur sat up straight and looked around. No one was supposed to be able to find him here, and that noise was familiar. He hurriedly tried to wipe the tears from his face, but stopped after hitting a couple of the recently bruised spots. "Who's there?" He called after a moment of consideration. "Un ami." The reply came from the bridge above him. He looked up in time to see Francis leap nimbly over the guard rail and land next to him. "What are you doing here frog face?" The brit questioned angrily, trying to hide his face from the older boy. "I was um…bird watching… yea, and I saw you running through the woods. I wanted to know where you were going." The lanky seventeen- year- old plopped in the grass next to him. However, the smile fell from his face when he took a good look at his young friend. "Mon Dieu, what happened to you?!" Arthur wanted to tell him to leave him alone, but for some reason he couldn't tell him to go. "Why do you care?" he finally settled on as a response. He looked around and realized all of his friends had left, he felt a little abandoned. "Does that really matter? Come on, let's go back to my place and we'll get you fixed up." Francis hopped to his feet and held out his hand to help Arthur. "I don't need your sympathy." He tried to sound angry, but ended up sniffing back tears. "Arthur I don't need to know what happened, but you need to get some ice on that and that." He gestured to Arthur's swollen eye and the arm he was cradling against his chest. Arthur looked away, humiliated. He tried to get to his feet but winced and fell back down. Blue eyes went wide as he looked at his small companion's bloody feet. "Were you running like that?" Arthur didn't meet his gaze, but nodded. "That's it, you're coming with me." Arthur didn't have time to respond before he was picked up and put on the older boy's back. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Francis just chuckled, "You are way too light, or am I just that muscular?" Arthur just rolled his eyes and rested his chin on the other's shoulder, he had a huge headache.

"Angleterre, hey Arthur?" Arthur flinched away from the voice. He bolted awake when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Please! Don't!" He winced in pain as he used his injured arm to move. He looked up and saw a pair of concerned blue eyes right above him. "You okay?" Arthur still hadn't grasped what was going on. "Francis? Where are we?" France helped England lay back down in the bed so he would not hurt himself further. "We're in the hospital, I looked at your feet and the glass was too deep for me to remove without hurting you more. Also, I wanted to make sure that arm wasn't broken, and now they're worried about a concussion because you passed out." Emerald eyes filled with fear, he tried to get out of bed. "I can't talk to them, I can't go home in a cast, I gotta leave." Francis caught him by the shoulders and pushed him back down. "Hey, take it easy! You don't have to tell them what happened; they just need your consent to treat you. Just relax; it will be okay mon ami." Arthur had just about worked himself into a panic. Francis gently rubbed his shoulder and tried to calm him down. "I'm going to go get a nurse so they can start working on you. Don't move I'll be right back." Arthur took a deep and nodded.

"Name?" "Arthur Kirkland"

"Age?" "Fourteen"

"Date of birth?" "April 12th"

"Would you mind describing your

injuries to the best of your capability?" "Glass in my feet, hurt my right arm, and you probably already noticed the bruises on my face and stuff.

"Can you tell me how this happened?"

"Um… no."

"Are you sure Arthur? Nobody has to

know you said anything."

The nurse threw a pointed glance in Francis' direction.

"He's fine. I don't want to talk about it though."

The nurse nodded and flipped the chart closed. "That's fine, but we will have to do more tests to make sure we don't miss anything. Why don't we start with your feet though?" Arthur nodded and looked at Francis hopefully. "I will go with you mon ami." And he helped his friend into the wheelchair that the nurse had just brought in.

Several hours, a CAT scan, an MRI, countless stitches, and a bright blue cast later and the two were eating dinner in an overnight room. "I still don't understand why I have to stay overnight, I'm fine." Arthur complained through mouthfuls of salad. "I wouldn't go that far." The French boy teased. "Seriously, Scot is going to kill me when he realizes how long I've been gone." Francis didn't miss the hint of fear that had slipped into the younger boy's voice.

"What happened this morning?" France asked, trying to hold the other's gaze. England became uncomfortable. "Um, nothing." He quickly shoveled food into his mouth to avoid saying anything else. "Arthur, I promise I would never tell anyone. I need to know that this doesn't happen all the time, I need to know that it won't happen again." Arthur looked into the crystal blue eyes, aflame with determination. He pushed his food aside and hid his face in his hands. "He hates me. He hates me living in his house, he hates everything about me." He moaned after a long pause. Francis shifted his chair over so he was sitting right next to the smaller boy. "I don't think Scot hates you." He placed a hand on his friend's quivering shoulders. "He does, today was really bad but he never treats me nice." "Tell me what happened mon ami." Arthur shuddered under his hand. "Fine, but you can't ever tell him I told." Francis nodded in agreement and Arthur began to illustrate the events that had taken place earlier that day. Then, he described what a normal day would usually go like. Neither of the stories was pretty.

Arthur was an emotional wreck by the time Francis had coaxed him into bed. He settled in the armchair for the night. It was heartbreaking to see the small boy that usually pushed him away grab his shirtsleeve and beg him not to leave him alone. As if he would have even considered leaving him at a time like this.

He was just about to drift off when he heard the other stir. He almost shook it off, but then he heard talking. "Scot, don't. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Please, Scot please don't." Quiet whimpers quickly turned into terrified pleas. Francis got up and sat on the corner of the bed intending to wake the younger boy up. Arthur beat him to the punch, flying into a sitting position. He took one look at Francis and launched himself toward the older boy, burying his face in his chest and started bawling his eyes out. "Don't take me back. He'll lock me in the closet. He'll kick me down the stairs. He'll…" France listened in horror as the list of atrocities got longer and longer. He wrapped his arms protectively around the younger boy patted his head and back in an awkward attempt to calm him. At last, words became choked sobs which became shivering with the occasional violent shudder.

"You won't go back Arthur. We'll get you your own place, you can live with me, anything. You don't have to worry about him anymore." Arthur only shuddered in response. Was he still asleep?

Before considering any possible implications of his actions, Francis lay Arthur back on the bed and settled beside him. Keeping one arm wrapped around the slight frame he pulled them close together. Arthur curled closer, seeking comfort, and Francis began to hum softly.

AAAAAAAAHHH! AAAAAAAAHHHHH! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Francis awoke with a start to the sound of screaming. He tried to roll over to find the source and ended up flat on his back on the floor. Hospital personnel stormed the room. "What's going on in here?!" one of the nurses shouted at the disoriented teen on the floor. "I don't know! He just started screaming!" he yelled back, now terrified.

It took several minutes to get Arthur calmed down enough to speak. "Arthur, what's wrong?" Emerald eyes were huge with fear. "Who are you people? Where am I?" Glances were exchanged. "We are in the hospital mon ami, don't you remember getting hurt?" Arthur shook his head and looked confused. Most of the nurses left, seeing that there was no real danger. "Who are you?" asked the younger blonde meekly. Francis looked at him in surprise, then at the remaining nurse who gestured him out into the hall.

"Please tell me he's joking." The nurse shook her head sadly, "Amnesia is a common side effect of trauma. It definitely looks like he had plenty yesterday." Francis sighed, "What can I do?" Francis made a mental note to kill Scot if he ever saw him again. "All you can do is try to introduce him to some of his past hobbies, friends, family; all of the things that used to make him happy. Don't try to force him to remember things, be patient." France nodded and thanked the lady, turned and waltzed back into the room.

"Hey Arthur, sorry that took so long." Arthur sat in the bed carefully watching the older teen. "Who are you? How do you know me?" Francis made a quick decision that he hoped was the right one. "Arthur I'm hurt, you don't even remember your own brother?" He laughed in a light, joking tone. Arthur raised an impressive eyebrow at that, "I have a brother?" France chuckled and tossed his hair out of his face. "Big brother Francis, at your service." The million dollar smile fell on a blank gaze. "What happened to me?" He asked, gesturing to the arm with the cast. "Um… They think you crashed your bike, no one was there though so we're not sure." Arthur nodded his head while he considered this. "How long do I have to be here?" Hmm, he seemed to be just as impatient as the old Arthur. "I don't know, let me go ask." He returned minutes later with a huge smile on his face and pushing a wheelchair. "Good news! We can leave whenever we want, but they want you off of your feet for at least a whole week."

As they left the hospital Arthur looked very uncomfortable. "So, what do you want to do first?" Francis asked, trying to ease some tension. "I don't know what do I usually do?" France was stuck; he didn't really know what the kid did most of the time. "Why don't we get you settled in at home before we do anything?" Francis had no idea how he was going to get Arthur's stuff from Scot's house but he'd have to try.

They entered the small house and Francis wheeled Arthur into the guest bedroom. It was relatively bare due to the fact that he never had company. "Can I look around a little? I don't remember this place at all." Francis nodded and released the handles of the chair, allowing the green eyed boy to explore by his own power. There really wasn't much to see, some lovely paintings and knick-knacks, but other than that the room was pretty much empty. "Why don't I have any clothes?" It was true, the closet was bare. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. "Um… You have been staying at our grandparents' house for a few weeks; most of your things are at their house. I was planning on going over there later today, after you were all settled in." Arthur nodded thoughtfully, "Can I go? I can't recall what they are like." "NO! I mean, I don't think that's a good idea. The people at the hospital said it wasn't a good idea to try and remember too many things at once." Poor Arthur looked so confused, why did his brother sound so angry now? "Come on, I'll make us some lunch and then go get your stuff." Arthur nodded and wheeled himself out of the small room. Something was off about this whole thing.

He sat by the kitchen table and watched the larger boy begin cooking a dish that looked like it should be simple, but had a touch of complication to it. "Um… Francis?" France looked up from the dish he was cooking. "Oui? Is something wrong?" "No, I was just curious. We seem very different for brothers. I mean we look alike in ways but our eyes are different, we sound really different when we talk. I don't know. " He mumbled through the thought uncertainly. Francis smiled and slid a plate of food in front of him. "There are indeed some things we need to discuss." Both he and his food received calculating glances. Finally, the younger of the two nodded for the elder to keep speaking and took a bite of the food.

"This may be confusing, but you have to trust me. We are indeed very different, you are English and I am French. However, we are alike in the fact that we are the personifications of the countries that we call home." He met the younger's eyes hoping he was still following him. "What do you mean by that?" "It means that we are not citizens of Great Britain and France, we represent the countries themselves. We have certain abilities that make us very strong and we do not die unless our country fades away." Arthur surprisingly seemed to be considering this as the truth. "How does that make us brothers?" France smiled kindly. "It doesn't, not by blood anyway. We do our best to look out for each other though. We are more like brothers in spirit." Francis knew he should be vague and lay off the lies or they would catch up with him sooner or later. "Are there more people like us? Do I have more brothers?" Francis stiffened a little, "Yes, there are more of us. There is someone to represent every country. No, you don't have any more brothers." He knew Ireland and Wales would be pissed if they knew that he was cutting them out too, but he wanted to keep his new little brother as far away from Scotland as possible.

Arthur contemplated all of this new information while he finished eating. Afterwards, Francis helped him get on the living room couch where he would be staying until France got back from running errands.

Blue eyes peered in all of the windows of the small, hand- me- down house. It didn't look like there was anyone home. He quickly pushed open the door and started up the stairs. He found a neat little room at the end of the hall; the British flag pinned on the wall confirmed that the room was Arthurs. Francis hurriedly shoved clothes into garbage bags that he had brought with him. Arthur didn't own much, all of his clothes barely filled one bag. In another he packed several books, a pair of shoes, and some other personal belongings. When the room was bare he raced from the house and never looked back.

Arthur slowly opened his eyes as he hears the front door close. "I'm home Arthur!" he heard the Frenchman call out to him. After a bit of struggle and pain in his feet Arthur finally hoisted himself into the wheelchair and went to follow his brother. He found him in what he was told was his room. "Can I help?" Francis jumped, he hadn't heard him wheel in. "Sure, thank you." Francis untied the bag with the clothes and looked inside. He was appalled by what he was seeing. The few shirts and pants that were there were all in horrible shape. He began to pull the ratty articles from the bag. This one was full of holes, and that was covered in blood stains, were those burn marks? Francis set down the horrid thing and hid his face in his hands, not wanting to look at the other boy. How had he never noticed how hard he had it? Why did he never consider that those looks of disgust could be covering a grimace of pain? An intense wave of guilt broke over him. He felt a single tear leave his eye and roll down his cheek, and then another. He felt a hand on his shoulder; it was much bonier than it should be. "I'm so sorry Angleterre; I know you don't remember any of it, but I'm so sorry that I let you go through it." Arthur was so confused, he couldn't figure out what had just happened. He removed his hand from the other's back and strained to pick up one of the shirts closest to him.

The shirt had what looked like an old blood stain on the collar and right shoulder. _Something started coming to him. All of a sudden he saw a fist flying at his face._ He yelled out in fear and tried to dodge it but couldn't move. He braced himself for the impact.

It never came, he only felt someone squeeze his elbow. He looked up and straight into a pair of bright blue eyes. "What's wrong mon ami?" He sighed in relief that he wasn't being attacked. "I thought I was going to get hit, I saw the hand come at me and everything." Francis paled; he didn't want the poor kid to regain his memory about these things. He was fairly sure that was what was happening, considering he hadn't moved prior to hearing the scream. "You're fine, I would never hurt you." With that, he shoved all of the clothes into the bag planning on throwing them out. "It was about time to get you new clothes anyway, you've outgrown most of these." Again, he lied with ease. He picked up the bag with the personal belongings and turned it over on the bed. "That's all yours, if you need any help putting things where you like them then call me." The taller blonde stormed out leaving the smaller to wonder what had gone wrong.

At dinner Arthur seemed to be deep in thought. "So how do you like your room?" Arthurs emerald eyes gazed at him for a moment. "It's very nice." They continued to eat in silence for a while. That is, until Arthur made up his mind to ask what he had wanted to all evening.

"Who's Scot?" Francis nearly choked. "Why would you ask something like that?" Arthur was apprehensive for a moment then timidly slid a small leather- bound book across the table. Francis picked it up and flipped it open. The front cover declared it to be 'property of Arthur Kirkland', he flipped further. It was a journal; he closed it immediately not wanting to read it yet. "Whoever he is he's a horrible person. I read that whole thing and if that Arthur Kirkland is me then I was very unhappy." Anger coursed through the usually calm teen. "Yea that's you, and yea Scot is not the nicest guy." Arthur decided to drop the subject for the time. "It's been a long day you should probably get to bed." France left to find a nightshirt for the younger boy, taking the journal with him. Leaving the fresh article of clothing on the guest bed he made his way to his bedroom and closed the door.

_Dear Journal, today Scot kicked me down the stairs because I was walking too close. He's suck a jerk._

_Dear Journal, today I burned dinner by mistake and Scot started jabbing me with the hot fire poker. He said if I liked burned meat so much then he would do me a favor. I really hate him._

_Dear Journal, Scot wants to know why I don't just go kill myself. That's what worthless people do. Well maybe I will, and then he would leave me alone._

_Dear Journal, last night Scot woke me up in the middle of the night to play 'manhunt'. I had to hide in a tree all night. I hate my life. At least the fairies understand._

_Dear Journal that stupid frog face wouldn't leave me alone today. I had to go to town to get food and that moron followed me all over picking on my hair and clothes. Why does everyone hate me? What did I ever do wrong? Maybe I am worthless after all. _

Tears fell freely from cerulean eyes, adding to the previous tear marks on the pages. He was in the journal. He remembered that day; the day that he followed Arthur all around the marketplace. He hadn't meant to hurt him, he was just teasing. Arthur had been teasing back so he thought nothing of continuing the taunting. And what on earth was wrong with Scotland? Who treated any human being like that, let alone your own little brother? He closed the journal, disgusted. He couldn't bring himself to finish it. What was he going to do now? He had a 14 year old kid with amnesia staying in his guest room. He had no idea how he was going to get him to remember who he was without putting him through pain. He did not sleep well that night.

He awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. He reached for the one next to his bedside table. "Oui?" He answered, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "Hello Francis." The Scottish accent jolted him into full awareness. "Have you seen Arthur anywhere the past couple of days?" Francis felt his blood boil. "No, I have not." He heard a sigh from the other end of the line. "Well, let me know if you see the little git anywhere." It was all Francis could do not to yell at him. "And why would I do that?" Scot chuckled on the other end. "He ran off a couple of days ago and hasn't come back. And all of his stuff is gone so I assume he broke in while I was working." This man was frustrating. "Explain to me, how does one 'break into' their own house?" "Just tell him to get his scrawny ass home if you see him!" And with that, Scot hung up. Arthur would most certainly not be going back.

He rolled out of bed and made his way down the hall. He stopped outside of Arthur's door when he heard what sounded like a struggle inside. He peeked inside the door to find the young boy struggling to get out of bed and into the wheel chair. Smiling, he went in the room and assisted his new brother. Arthur thanked him and wheeled out of the room after him.

While they ate breakfast Francis described how the day would go. "So first we will go get you some new clothes then we will visit some of the places where we used to hang out." Arthur nodded. "How am I going to get new clothes? I don't have any money." Francis shook his head. "Of course you don't. Scot probably took anything you made. I'll pay for you new clothes. Don't worry about a thing." Arthur looked as if he were going to protest, but realized he didn't have much room to argue. He really had nothing.

Francis pushed Arthur through the thick crowds on the sidewalks. They had been to several stores and had gotten the smaller teen plenty of very nice clothes. Francis was trying to navigate them towards his favorite café for some lunch when he noticed a familiar head of red hair above the crowd. No, there are other red heads in the world it doesn't have to be… That thought was ended with one glance at the man's face. His blood ran cold. What now? He looked around quickly and abruptly pulled Arthur and himself into a nearby ally, hoping they hadn't already been spotted.

"What…" Francis quickly clamped his hand over the younger nation's mouth. Arthur nodded in understanding and the older of the two moved his hand. "Well, well, well." Both boys froze. Francis whipped around to see Scot approaching them from the backside of the ally, he cursed under his breath. "What's wrong Artie? Not even gonna say hi to your own brother?" Francis looked down at the boy who had maneuvered the chair so he was facing the intruder. "You're not my brother. I don't even know you." This enraged the other. In an instant, angry green eyes were inches from frightened blue ones. "What did you do to him?" He snarled, Francis almost gagging of the smell of alcohol and morning breath. "Funny, I wanted to ask you the very same question." Angry bantering continued on, but Arthur was somewhere else; on a wood floor, a tile floor, against a window, a wall, on the grass, in the dirt. In all of the memories flooding his mind he was in pain, so much pain; and in all of them, a familiar face with red hair and green eyes that matched his exactly loomed overhead. He sat there in shock, watching pieces of his life fall into place. "Arthur?" He looked up to see Francis standing over him, split lip swelling already. "What happened?" Francis started wheeling them out of the ally. "We need to get out of here, Scot attacked me and I knocked him out. He won't be out long though." Arthur still felt so confused and scared and had not quite put together what was going on. "Hey, are you alright? You're looking pretty pale." The gentle French accent pulled him, once more, out of his dazed thoughts. Arthur nodded weakly. "That was Scot?" sigh "Yes that was Scot." Arthur craned his neck to try to see the other. "He was my real brother, before the accident, wasn't he?" Francis absentmindedly guided them in a different, yet familiar direction. "Oui, mon ami. He is your true blood relative; you have two others as well." They turned onto a well- worn path that leads into the woods. "I… I think I remembered some things. When I saw him I felt so scared, and I saw things." Arthur was physically shaking. Francis turned off of the path and began navigating through trees. Arthur hid his face in his hands; trying to clear the disturbing images from his mind, yet at the same time trying to piece them together. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. They were on a stone bridge, a rather old one by the look of it. "Do you know where we are?" Arthur looked around, he felt a hint of recognition nag at the back of his mind, he felt safe here. He shook his head sadly. Next thing he knew, he was being lifted bridal style by the other teen. "Just what do you think you're doing?" He gasped in surprise. Francis ignored his protests and carried him down the slope of the hill to his usual spot under the bridge. He set the smaller boy in his lap and instructed him to be quiet.

They sat for a long time. Finally, Francis felt the boy tense. "What do you see?" he whispered in his ear knowingly. "A-a unicorn. T-that c-can't be real, can it?" He stuttered back in shock. "This was something very special about you Arthur. You have friends that nobody else can even see. I'm sure that they have missed you very much." Arthurs hand extended shakily as he reached out and rested it on the invisible creature. He pet the beast and smiled, Francis secretly wondered how long it had been since he smiled like that. Then something else seemed to catch his eye. "That rabbit has wings, and it looks green!" He whispered excitedly. France nodded, "That must be the flying mint bunny, you were rather fond of him." The face of awe turned into a deep frown. "They want to know why you are here. They don't like you. Why don't they like you?" Francis sighed, "I didn't believe in them before. I was quite rude to you about seeing them actually." Arthur seemed to be gauging his reaction. "They say you're telling the truth." He looked hurt by this discovery. "Listen, why don't all of you take some time to catch up. Maybe they can help you remember some things. I'll be right up there on the bridge if you need anything." He gently shifted the boy from his lap to the ground. "See you in an hour!" He called over his shoulder as he started climbing the hill.

The hour passed slowly for the man on the bridge. When it was up he slowly and quietly made his way down the hillside. He found his young companion where he had left him. He sat beside him and sat, once more, in silence. "Stupid frogface." He wasn't sure that he'd actually heard him correctly, but that's what it sounded like. He looked over in surprise to find that Arthur wasn't even looking at him. "What did you call me?" Then Arthur surprised both of them by turning and grabbing ahold of the older boy, pulling him into an awkward hug. "Stupid frogface. Now I owe you money, I don't have anywhere to live, and you can invade me or something." Francis couldn't decide if he was more taken aback be the large amount of memory suddenly gained, or by the fact that he was sobbing uncontrollably into his shirt. "Arthur, you don't owe me anything. You are more than welcome to live with me until we can make other arrangements, and I'm not going to invade you." This did not seem to help. "Why? You never cared before, no one cares. Just tell me what you're planning." France wrapped his arms around the other, not sure what else to do. He waited until Arthur had settled down before trying to speak to him again. "Hey, I know Scot is a terrible person. I really wish that I had known what was going on sooner. Truth is Arthur, I do care." Arthur looked up with tear filled eyes; he released his grasp on the older teen. "Do you really mean that?" He sniffed pathetically. Francis looked directly into the emerald eyes, trying to convey as much sincerity as humanly possible.

"I really mean it Arthur. I do care. We'll get you through this. You're a great guy and don't let anyone ever tell you any different. Not even me." They held each other's gaze for a long time. Then Arthur leaned into Francis and hugged him. Not out of desperate need for security or comfort like before; but a warm, brotherly hug. And that's where they stayed as the red sun sank lower in the darkening sky.

Things would be alright. No matter how long or hard it was going to be to get them that way, things would be alright.


End file.
